


home is where love is

by Enterprising



Category: Logan (2017) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Logan Lives, Fluff, Gen, Hair Brushing, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterprising/pseuds/Enterprising
Summary: It's not easy, being on the road, but sometimes Logan's able to give Laura the slice of apple pie life neither of them have ever had.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok so logan killed me. i'm still shaking. i could still summon the tears. this is a fix-it fic that doesn't actually focus on the fix-it, i just wanted logan to be a dad and laura to get to be a little girl for once and them both to be happy
> 
> characterisation? i don't know her
> 
> (title taken from lifeline by imogen heap)

They've been on the road a long time.  
  
Logan's been _trying_ to instill some morals in Laura - he's been doing honest jobs, buying instead of stealing; he's even trying to swear less. Which isn't working out, but he figures he's doing pretty well with the other two.  
  
But it's days like this - hot, arid days trapped in a stuffy car - that make Logan want to revert back to old ways, and he does so only because Laura looks like she's ready to melt out of her skin, panting like a dog with her head stuck out the window.  
  
When they come to a small outcropping of houses visible through the trees either side of the road, Logan leaves Laura in the car with strict instructions not to move and falls back on an old trick.  
  
"Alright," Logan says gruffly, climbing back into the car. "I found us a house, let's get goin'."  
  
Laura doesn't ask any questions, but then again she hardly speaks at all. Even after all they've been through, Logan figures she's just gonna be a quiet kid. Not when she's angry, though.  
  
The house they break into is _classy_ , all proper wood furnishings and shiny chrome kitchen, and Laura wanders off to explore while Logan checks to see if the aircon, water and cooker work. He knows the occupants are on holiday - all the essentials are gone, and there's an abandoned suitcase left open in the hallway. Even more telling is the calendar which marks the family as on holiday for three more days, which works just fine.  
  
He frowns at a loud thud from upstairs. "Laura?" he yells.  
  
There's no response, so Logan sighs loudly and hopes to God Laura hasn't destroyed something he ought to pay for.  
  
"Laura," Logan starts as he climbs the stairs, "we need to respect the house these nice people loaned to us - "  
  
"Come!" Laura shouts, and Logan rolls his eyes and walks into the bathroom, preparing to either give or get an earful.  
  
The bathroom is _huge_ , all gold and ornate and so pristine Logan suddenly feels filthy just standing in the doorway. Laura is laying in the massive bathtub, sticking her fingers into the taps and poking the plughole with fascination.  
  
"Never seen a tub before?" Logan asks, feeling stupid as soon as he says it. Baths are a luxury, an overindulgence of wasted water that even Logan's hardly partaken in. Of course Laura would never have seen or had one.  
  
Laura shakes her head and starts turning a tap, and Logan crosses the room quickly to stop her.  
  
"If you really want a bath you can try it later, alright," Logan says, immediately regretting the words. Years of working at Xavier's has taught him what a trial bathing troublesome children is, and Laura is bound to cause Logan even more grey hairs. Laura opens her mouth to disagree and Logan points a finger at her. " _After_ dinner. I'm starving."  
  
It's good to be able to feed Laura something that isn't out of a can, or greasy, or tasteless. Laura gives him a strange look when he sets the plate down, and Logan scowls in disapproval when she sniffs at it apprehensively before reaching for her fork.  
  
"It's frittata," Logan says. Laura raises a sardonic eyebrow that really pisses Logan off until he realises it's a habit she picked it up from him. "Egg. Bacon. Pepper."  
  
"Bacon," Laura repeats, and then starts to eat vociferously. Logan's generally given up trying to stop Laura eating like a beast unless they're in public, so he ignores her and gets on with his own meal.

* * *

 

Logan kicks out the footrest and leans back in the chair, closing his eyes. Not two seconds later Laura clambers over him. "Bath," she insists, and Logan opens his eyes reluctantly.  
  
"It's gonna take a while to run," he reminds her when they're upstairs. Laura's clinging to the rim of the tub, eyes fixed on the water running from the tap, and it's barely half full. She ignores him, so Logan turns away, muttering, "Your loss."  
  
That's when he sees the half-empty bottle of bubble bath on the side, and hesitates. Laura never gets to be a kid, but he can give her this.  
  
"Look," Logan says, pouring a generous amount under the running water, and Laura laughs in delight as bubbles start forming, swiping her hand through them.  
  
"I will make bubbles," Laura says, reaching for the bottle, but Logan holds it out of reach.  
  
"No. No more."  
  
Laura scowls, and Logan scowls right back. Then he makes the mistake of going to fetch Laura's pyjamas.  
  
He returns to colossal _mountains_ of bubbles almost overflowing the tub, shouting in surprise as he enters the room to Laura's hysterical laughter. Logan does his best to scoop the bubbles back into the tub, feeling as stupid as he clearly looks, judging by Laura's giggles echoing off the tiles.  
  
"Punk," he snaps at Laura, starting to run cold water and testing the temperature every so often, batting Laura's hands away from the bubbles. "Alright," he says, finally done and very ready to leave Laura to her own devices. "You call me if you need me."  
  
"What's that?" Laura asks. She's pointing at a rubber duck, and Logan snorts.  
  
He hasn't seen one of those for years, but it still hurts that Laura doesn't know what it is. "It's a toy, it floats in the bath," he says. "S'meant to be a duck, but I ain't never seen a duck that yellow." He picks it up and puts it in the bath for her, and Laura pauses and stares at it, bobbing somewhat ominously in the water. "I'll be downstairs."  
  
Laura is frighteningly self-sufficient. Logan isn't even sure he was bathing himself aged 11, which may have been a result of some fault of his own or, more likely, the unreliability of indoor plumbing in the nineteenth century.  
  
However, Logan has the agonising knowledge that Laura's capabilities and independence don't come from her own resourcefulness: it was bred into her. She eats like an animal because she was raised as one. She can wash herself because it was probably more cost-efficient to not have someone on payroll showering the test subjects. Dwelling on it too long makes Logan so angry he can barely think, so he wanders through the huge house, perusing bookshelves and eventually settling on poking around the massive television and turning on the fire.  
  
He avoids the news entirely and flicks through the rest of the nonsense on TV, snorting at dumb cartoons and rolling his eyes at unrealistic cop shows.  
  
Logan doesn't realise how invested he is in Law and Order until Laura shouts, "Logan!" and there's a loud thud from upstairs.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Logan mutters. He leisurely makes his way upstairs; whatever damage is done.  
  
The floor is soaked, the towels so saturated they've gone dark, but Laura is beaming when Logan opens the door. She's changed into her pyjamas, which is good, but Logan spots her clothes marinating in a puddle of water in the corner, which is inconvenient and definitely, Logan thinks, a job for tomorrow.  
  
"All done?" he asks.  
  
Laura shakes her head like a wet dog and water goes _everywhere_ , soaking the walls and the floor and Logan's clothes. He curses under his breath.  
  
"See, I know you know how to dry your hair, so now you're just being an asshole," Logan says, annoyed. Laura gives him an adorable traitorous smile.  
  
"Tired," she says, and she looks it - it's been a long day and the bath must have made her even sleepier. "Carry me."  
  
"You're not in a position to be making demands," Logan says, trying to be cross but unable to maintain the anger as he picks Laura up and she curls close to him, burying her head against his chest. It doesn't help his poor damp shirt in the slightest, but Logan figures it was ruined anyway.  
  
He carries Laura downstairs and deposits her in front of the electric fire. It takes a little longer for him to sit down, cursing his knees and his back.  
  
"Want me to brush your hair?" Logan offers.  
  
It isn't the first time he's brushed Laura's hair, but it feels different to be sat in front of a fire, warm in a beautiful house, Laura half-asleep in front of him. It feels domestic; almost feels like a home.  
  
_Almost_ , Logan thinks sourly, extricating the brush from Laura's tangles to stop her from shrieking. "Stop," he says, more exasperated than annoyed. "It does not hurt that badly."  
  
"You would know if you had hair," Laura says, crossing her arms, and Logan knows without seeing her face that she's pouting.  
  
"Ouch," Logan says flatly at the insult. He takes instead to running his fingers through first and then using the brush, and Laura settles down again and sits nice and quiet.  
  
Laura even gifts Logan a smile when he's done, but then she says, "Logan," voice soft as Logan's ever heard it. He frowns, concerned.  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"Can you do that?" She points to one of the photos on the mantelpiece; she must have nosed through them earlier, Logan thinks. He stands with difficulty and great complaint from his joints, looking at the photo in question.  
  
The family whose house they're 'borrowing' smiles back at him from the ornate frame: a good-looking mother and father, a gangly boy growing into his new height, and a girl presumably his sister, wearing some kind of ruffly dress and - Logan sees what had caught Laura's attention - elaborately braided hair.  
  
"Braid your hair?" Logan asks.  
  
"Braid," Laura repeats, nodding. "La trenza."  
  
"La trenza, okay," Logan mutters. "I'll see if I can't find you some hairbands. You stay there."  
  
He doesn't catch Laura's obstinate expression, but the annoyed little huff makes him grin as he goes upstairs.  
  
Rifling around on the girl's dressing table turns up some hairbands, and Logan pulls them over his hand. This amuses Laura for some reason, but it certainly doesn't amuse Logan when she pulls and snaps one on his wrist.  
  
"You - asshole," Logan says, scowling at her as she laughs. Laura quiets down again when they settle back on the floor, Logan parting sections of her hair with fumbling fingers, out of practise but remembering the basic method - nothing fancy.  
  
The simple, methodical movements stir up unwanted memories; Logan thinks of Rogue, mostly, how he'd used to brush and braid her hair for her when she wanted to be close for someone, and it was an easy way to be in each other's company.  
  
Rogue had been too old for coddling when Logan'd met her, but he remembers clearly one time when the world was pressing her to the breaking point, and Logan was the only person she wanted to see - the only person she _could_ see, because she was just a teenage girl dealing with more shit than most everyone her age, and all she wanted was a damn hug.  
  
He hadn't really known what to do - paternal urges don't come natural to him even now - but he'd been stroking her hair soothingly, and she'd asked him if he could brush it. "Since you're messin' it up so much," Rogue had said, trying a weak smile despite the tears still shining in her eyes.  
  
So he brushed her hair. It wasn't completely smooth ("That wasn't all me," Logan had protested when Rogue laughingly blamed him for the tangles), but it was relaxing, sitting there, being able to help in some small way. Even if the brief brushes of her scalp burned and stung his fingers momentarily. He was the only one who could handle it.  
  
That makes him wonder if anyone had done this for Laura before - though the nurses from that brief video had seem maternally inclined, he doubted the supervisors' sympathies extended past cursory care.  
  
"Pull away from me," Logan instructs, intending to do the best damn braids he can, because Laura deserves them - and then swears when she yanks forward. "Not that hard, Christ, you'll lose your hair at that rate." He can almost hear Laura's eye roll as she leans back, tugging forward more carefully this time with only a muttered complaint.  
  
"Done yet?" Laura asks, when Logan's fumbling to get the band round right enough to secure the braid. It's too tight to go round another time, but too loose to tie it up properly if he leaves it, Logan thinks angrily, but manages to finish the job without snapping any hairbands.  
  
"Yes, your highness," he grumbles, and Laura jumps up and eagerly runs to the mirror, standing on her toes so she can see and turning her head to look at her hair.  
  
Logan can't see her expression from here. "Like 'em?"  
  
"Wow," Laura breathes, so quietly Logan doesn't think he was supposed to hear. "Pretty."  
  
"Very pretty."  
  
Laura turns and beams at Logan, and that's all the warning he gets before she's launching herself at him and throwing her arms around his neck in a strangling hug.  
  
"Jesus, kid, have some thought for old bones, wouldja," Logan mumbles, but he holds her tight, secretly thrilled he's able to make her this happy. He isn't sure when Laura's happiness became one of the most important things in his life, among keeping her out of trouble and out of government hands, but it's moments like this that are important, he reckons. The ones that count.  
  
Laura doesn't bounce around too much after that, largely concerned with going to the mirror every thirty seconds and checking her braids are still pristine. "I'm not redoing 'em if you mess 'em up," Logan had warned, and Laura had sat with quiet resolve and stared hard at the TV as though not to risk a distraction.  
  
At nine, Laura stands up and yawns widely, showing all her sharp little teeth. Logan decides not to bother telling her to cover her mouth for the thousandth time.  
  
"Bed," Laura says, firmly as though Logan's going to argue. He's pleased to see that she does actually respect the routine he's been trying to get them in - meal times are sketchy, but Logan always makes sure bedtime is at nine. He's trying.  
  
"Alright, alright," Logan mutters when Laura makes as though to bodily tug him from the chair. She probably could, too, but Logan isn't ready for that humiliation just yet.  
  
Once tucked up in bed, Laura takes extra care to precisely lay each braid safely on the pillow, and Logan makes sure she doesn't see him roll his eyes.  
  
"I'm gonna sleep downstairs, alright?" he says, and Laura nods, understanding. Logan wants to be near the entrances to the house, wants to be able to keep and protect Laura upstairs - a lot of things. He feels safer himself knowing that he'll be ready for whatever comes and Laura will have a chance to get out first. It feels horrible to plan like this - in the event of an attack - but, Logan resolves, one day they won't have to. One day Laura will be safe and warm and happy _every_ night, and then Logan might be able to relax.  
  
Or not, he thinks as Laura scowls at him.  
  
"A story," she insists.  
  
"You can have a story tomorrow," Logan bargains. Bedtime is as much of a trial as any other time of day. He should remember that Laura is still irritating even when adorable and cocooned in soft pink blankets.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine," Logan says right back, feeling incredibly immature as he does so, but he's the adult and what he says goes. Though Laura did go easy on him tonight - usually the battle for a story is exhaustive and only results in both of them getting frustrated, unless Logan caves. (And he usually does.)  
  
He kisses Laura's forehead despite her scowl and picks his way across the room, silently cursing the wealthy brat who thinks it's okay to leave their room a mess. Then Logan hears a quiet, "Night, Daddy," and for a moment thinks his heart has stopped, warmth swelling in his chest.  
  
"Night, Laura," he manages, a damn _smile_ threatening to ruin his grumbling facade, and closes the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> i know it's just one word n it's probably okay but send me a knife if i got the spanish wrong
> 
> comments very appreciated, and you can find me on tumblr at bottomkenobi.tumblr.com!


End file.
